


Book of Drabbles

by literiveture



Category: Multi-Fandom
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25661743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literiveture/pseuds/literiveture
Summary: A collections of drabbles taken mostly from my roleplay blogs, with a few unique/Ao3 exclusive drabbles as well! Each chapter will have trigger warnings at the beginning. Works include fandom and independent characters, which too includes canon portrayals and original characters.





	1. Alternate Ending - Joshua Graham

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Detailed depictions of war, decapitation, major character death, and canon typical violence.

If there was one lesson to teach throughout the entirety of human history, it was that war never changed. No matter who fought who, what weaponry was utilized, war was all the same. Lands plagued by a rain of blood and hills of corpses, the minds of men warped into something more devious in nature. Bloodthirst grasped at the throats of the victors, often an overcompensation to ensure that they did not lose the fleeting feeling of victory.

And defeat was just as ugly as it had been decades ago as the Hoover Dam fell to the Republic’s forces.

A vicious rage filled Edward Sallow as he stood before his men at Fortification Hill, teeth bared and eyes narrowed as he chastised his Malpais Legate for all to see. It was as if Mars himself had possessed the older male. Had anyone stumbled upon the scene without prior context, particularly in thanks to the non-traditional wear that the Legate adorned, one would think he was a profligate among the sea of Legion. A mere spoil of war for the reigning Caesar to dehumanize and leave for dead as a lesson to all— They would not think he be the right hand man that controlled the Legion with a fervent, unbreakable passion. Voices raised as the argument grew more heated, daring to rival the flames that illuminated the vicinity. Muscles tensed and fists clenched as the two men found themselves at the other’s throat, faces inches apart as the encampment was woken with the sound of their screaming. 

Joshua had not known— could not have known that the Republic had laid traps within the city. Strategic as he had been, there was simply not enough intelligence to have properly gauged their tactics. Yet the Caesar did not care, making point of how close they had been to their victory only for it to be swept away with the rubble of the exploded building that had crushed Legion forces. Cold, icy eyes bore into those of the Caesar, brows furrowed as a tense blanket of silence fell over the two. Deep down, Joshua had known that despite his best efforts: Caesar was correct in his judgement. No matter the circumstances, no matter the cost, Joshua had failed the Legion.

Caesar stepped back, taking a breath before glancing to the shadows.

“Lanius, step forward.“

With no words, the masked beast of a man stepped forth from the shadows, lifeless ‘eyes’ staring into Joshua’s. Caesar rest a kind hand on Lanius’ armor before withdrawing, turning to face the crowd as Lanius stomped forward and grabbed the Malpais Legate by his hair. Joshua hissed, grasping at Lanius’ armored hand as Caesar spoke.

“Men of my Legion, make no mistake in what you see before you. A traitor; A Legate incapable of serving his own Legion. The failure of today’s battle— The lives of your brothers— They fall into Legate Graham’s hands. Let it be known that no matter your rank, no matter your dedication to the Legion, you will be punished for your failures.“

As the Caesar spoke, Lanius bought the Legate to his knees with a swift kick to the backs of his legs once he had bound Joshua’s hands with pitch. All Joshua could do was cast his piercing gaze toward Caesar as he addressed his men. As he bastardized the Legate’s efforts to generations of warriors. Once the speech was concluded, Caesar turned to address the Malpais Legate.

“Any last words, Graham?”

There was a pause.

“ _‘It is He who changes the times and the epochs; He removes kings and establishes kings; He gives wisdom to wise men, and knowledge to men of understanding.’_ Time will prove you wrong, Edward."

The Caesar’s face twisted with displeasure, though Joshua caught the twinges of guilt that shone through that dictatorial gaze. No further words left Joshua, nor did they leave Caesar as he gave Lanius a nod. The Monster of the East unsheathed his sword, harshly pressing his boot into the center of Joshua’s back. Joshua’s head came to rest against a rock, his gaze forced to look out onto the hundreds of faces that stared at him with a wave of emotions. Grief. Anger. Admiration.

Then the mighty sword fell and so with it the Legate’s head, rolling to come to rest at the feet of the Caesar. Edward took a moment to process the execution, though was seemingly quick to recover as he bent to grab the severed head that Lanius had gifted him. Grasping at thick strands of black hair, Edward’s arm rose to show off the spoils of war to his Legion.

“Let this serve as a reminder of today’s events. Today’s failures.“


	2. Alternate Ending - Chairman Rockwell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Major Character Death, "The Outer Worlds" Spoilers

Halcyon was already in deep shit, and the situation at hand certainly wasn't helping. The people were starving— His people were starving. People were noticing, too. The Board was flooded with complaints from its settlements, with workers striking and dropping dead from famine. Rebels began building settlements outside the wall among marauders, spreading their anti-corporate messages over the radios, in the newspapers. Pamphlets that were slipped in upon distribution.

And now? Now he had the world's most wanted outlaw strapped to the chair behind him, just within view of the camera.

" _After all the work you've done. All the work you've destroyed. All the money you've cost me. Your misguided crusade has doomed Halcyon—_ "

The transmission was cut short by the sounds of struggle. Broken out of his confinement, Phineas was now armed and dangerous. He had taken out the guard accompanying the Chairman, and now the two were entangled in a harsh fight. Vicious words fell from the two men as they struggled for the weapon, shots firing in the air and narrowly missing Rockwell's head. Yet his luck was quick to run out, as Phineas managed to press the weapon into the Chairman's abdomen and let out a shot that could be heard around the colony.

Tired eyes widened as the Chairman stumbled back, hands clutching at his side as he fell against the wall. A lucky shot to the spleen caused blood to quickly poor from Rockwell, staining his pallid hands. He was bleeding out.

"What the hell have you done?"

Phineas lowered the weapon, stepping toward the door. He didn't look back as the metallic doors slid open, revealing the Unplanned Variable on the other side.

"I've saved Halcyon."


	3. Alternate Ending - Father John Ward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Demonic Possession, Murder, Cult Mention, Depictions of Gore, "Faith: The Unholy Trinity" Spoilers

Navigating through the decrepit, bloodied hallways of the apartment complex had made John sick to his stomach. Plagued his mind with fear and disgust as the remnants of Gary's cult had given every last bit of effort they had within them to stop the priest and summon Alu as they had intended.

And Lisa would be their sacrifice.

Poor Lisa, a church-goer whom John was well acquainted with. One he had been communicating with for weeks now to gain any leverage he could against the cult. Lisa, with the honey blonde hair and crystalline eyes. With the freckles across her rosy cheeks. With a smile that could rival God's light. She was the perfect sacrifice for the cult— for Alu. The embodiment of everything holy; Everything pure in this wretched world. If there was one thing John had to do to make amends for his past mistakes, he knew it would be to save Lisa.

What John was blissfully unaware of, though, was just how weakened his psyche had been when he entered the ritual room and found Lisa among the shadowy figures and flickering candles. Her body contorted before him, blood dripping from her features as she made her way toward him. Raising the cross and backing away, John began the exorcism.

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te..._ "

Her body further contorted, a pained cry for help escaping past the inhuman noises that bled from her tongue.

" _cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare..._ "

John felt the cold wall against his back.

" _Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis..._ "

Blood pooled around the priest's feet as Lisa—no, as the demon loomed over John.

" _Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine... quem inferi tremunt..._ "

Sharpened teeth were bared.

" _Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos._ "

A shroud of darkness fell over the dimly lit room as the demon expelled itself from Lisa's frail form, causing the woman to fall into John's readied arms. A soft breath of relief fell from his lips as their eyes met. He was thankful she was even conscious in the moment, his worn expression turning into one of reassurance. Yet before any words could be spoken, the priest— quickly as he had moved to catch Lisa— pushed the woman away as a grotesque figure charged at him.

Pallid hands clutched as tousled strands of brown hair, icy eyes widening as a blood-curling scream ripped at his throat. Weakened muscles suddenly tensed and convulsed with life, sending the poor man stumbling forward as the demon that had possessed Lisa now overtook his own body. Blood spewed from his mouth like gushing geyser waters, coating his vestments and further removing the color from his skin.

"Fight it, John!"

The former priest stalked forward, twitching and mumbling as strained hands reached out toward Lisa's form. In that moment, he had looked so helpless. Tears mixed with blood as they streamed down his features. Ragged breaths filled the air among hoarse whimpers and hushed mumbling. He swayed back and forth, drawing closer before pulling back in fear.

Yet ultimately, John lost the battle.

His hands grasped at Lisa's flesh, nails digging into bundles of muscle and nerve as he tore her to shreds with an insurmountable strength. Screams went unheard to the priest as he did the Devil's work, leaving nothing behind but a bloodied mess of a woman that crumpled to the floor. Not long after the soft 'thud' echoed through the room, John regained his consciousness and stared down in horror at what he had done.

"Oh no— Lisa! Lisa—" Words were cut off by harsh sobs as the priest fell to his knees, allowing his trembling hands to grasp at her shoulders and pull what remained of her corpse close to his chest.

"Lisa, I'm so sorry—" John hissed. " **The devil made me do it.** "


	4. What Goes Around Comes Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Legion Mention, Canon Typical Violence (Fallout) || Numerous named characters mentioned belong to Vendetta

What goes around comes around— That much had been made clear when the Second Battle of Hoover Dam came to its conclusion.

Crimson banners, once tattered like the men who fought beneath them, flew high above the Mojave’s bloodied sands. The push westward had been a bold one on the Legion’s part, one that many of its highest-ranking officials bit their tongues over. Antony, the Master of Hounds, was uncertain even in the ability of his own breed, let alone in the ability of a dying Legion. Soldiers were starved, many succumbing to the simplest of wounds due to the aversion to modern medicine. Vulpes had seen Caesar’s health approach a rapid decline, his final orders being delivered just before the Lord had fallen into a coma.

Caesar, the Prodigal Son of Mars, had died just before the Battle, and the morale of the Legion had sunk to an all-time low as the looming shadow of Lanius enveloped them.

Yet even still, the Legate’s commands were enough. His disdain for the New California Republic was enough. Men adorned in Old World attire flooded the Dam, breaking through the wall of soldiers like flooding waters. Grey concrete was soaked with bloodshed, deep pools of crimson sinking between the cracks and plaguing the lands with an intoxicating mixture of blood— An intoxicating mixture of defeat. Many found themselves joyed by the clutched victory, celebrating with bountiful feasts and by shaking the tags of NCR troopers as if they were tambourines, the metallic rattling filling the night. It would become a sound that haunted the Mojave as the Legion continued their crusades. Town by town, the Mojave fell beneath the boot of Lanius and his army. More tags were collected with each mission, rattling in tandem with the harsh clashing of the Legion’s weapons and the rough clanking of their armor. Some could swear they felt the sands shift beneath the feet of Lanius’ Legion, just able to feel the vibrations of the army before tragedy overcame their settlements.

It was not long before Vegas fell, though it fell without the rag-tag gaggle of misfits who had taken the Lucky 38. They had fled long before Lanius reached their doorstep, taking the Legion’s night of celebration to scatter across the sands. Some went westward toward California, some north toward the Divide, and some further toward Zion. Those who found the Divide found within it a discarded tool of the Legion, one that had been long abandoned by Caesar. Imani and Dakota had found history, unearthed what had unintentionally been a part of the Legion’s victory, been a part of their crusades under the leadership of Joshua Graham. The Long 15— One of few NCR trade routes into the Mojave, destroyed by the eye-bot that had then guided the duo toward Ulysses and his Temple. Harsh words were exchanged between the two couriers, venom dripping into the cracks of the Old World silo just as blood had seeped into the Mojave sands. Yet unlike the tragedy in the Mojave, there was peace to be found in the Divide. Amends to be made as the couriers set their differences aside and focused on the looming threat. Focused on finding their home. Leaving the Divide behind, the trio found themselves once more in the Mojave, though taking a detour from their journey north as Dakota had mentioned a mysterious radio signal coming from across the treacherous sands, one mentioning a destination that Ulysses had not thought he would hear about again:

The Sierra Madre.

Much akin to the feeling that bubbled in his chest when he had first seen Imani’s face, the name had brought an ache to his chest as he thought of Christine. He had last seen her in Big MT, the “Big Empty”, chasing down the crazed Father Elijah whilst seeking his own answers about the Old World. The last time they spoke, he had pointed her to the Sierra Madre. And she went with no further questions. Ulysses knew all too well how risky it had been for the trio to cross the Mojave sands in hopes of finding her again, yet it was a piece of history that the courier could not ignore. He wanted— No. He needed to find her again. Needed to know that she had been safe from the Legion.

And so they traversed the wastes, carefully navigating around the winding roads and hardened Legion patrols, working toward the town of Nelson and back toward the Dam, stumbling across the abandoned bunker and finding themselves within the Sierra Madre’s grasp. The streets were filled with a toxic cloud, gas masks only able to hold out for so long before the crew would have to seek refuge within the Old World buildings, hoping that they were safe as they changed the filters. Atop of this, there were these creatures that surveyed the streets, unable to be killed unless one of their limbs were severed from their bulky form. The journey across the Sierra Madre proved more difficult than that of their journey across the Mojave despite the major differences in their duration. Soon enough though, the large metallic door of the casino’s vault stared back at the trio. Imani and Ulysses had tried searching for physical weaknesses whilst Dakota looked for a terminal or some automated system to override the door’s security. Tension filled the vault as both sides prepared themselves for the worst, Imani holding Ulysses’ hand in reassurance whilst Christine braced herself for combat, hands gripping the holo-spear she had been utilizing throughout the hunt for Elijah. Yet still, neither expected to find what they had once the door was peeled away. Christine stood strong, though scarred and emaciated, ready to protect the weak woman behind her. Ulysses stood, peeled away from the Divide and well. Their reunion was bittersweet, few words exchanged with still so much being said. Another chapter in his story closed, another journey back across the Mojave to be made as the group set their sights on the rumored canyons of Zion, a sanctuary untouched by the desert’s war.

Familiar settlements were now desiccated ruins, haunting reminders of just how far the reach of the Legion was spreading. Their journey north was just as tense as the journey to the abandoned bunker; the hidden gateway to the Sierra Madre. Legion patrols had thickened in the time they were ghosts to the Mojave, roadways unsafe for anybody who managed to escape the powerful hand of Lanius. Though traversing the unmarked sands were just as risky, between the chances of stumbling across the lethal creatures that claimed the Mojave and the rare chances they stumble across a Legion encampment. One tucked away among the sands looking for stragglers like them. Thankfully it had not been the case, at least not in the way that they had imagined. The group did stumble across an encampment, yet its occupants were no longer affiliated with the Legion. No— the infamous Vulpes Inculta was now in a similar situation to their own. He was fleeing Lanius’ bloodthirst, saving himself from the most inhumane of punishments that he had known would come under the Legate’s rule. The Legate was a machine of war, Caesar’s hammer— Ready to bring pain and destruction to every inch of land that he had staked his claim within. Vulpes was a tool of Caesar as well, one defined by treachery and espionage.

Something the Legate had no use for.

And so Vulpes had taken Caesar's physician, his newfound love, and fled the Legion with the aid of the Legate's delicate wife. She had supplied them with everything they could have needed before they fled. Snuck them the most powerful tool— Her amulet of worship. Having her ability to worship would strengthen her greatly; allow for her to fight for her partner as he fought for her during their travels through the wastes. He had slain previous brothers-in-arms, ended the lives of those that he had ruled over and respected mere weeks ago without question to ensure the safety of his dearest Pandora. More history had resurfaced in the fateful crossing of their paths, allowing Ulysses to close a chapter he had so long pushed aside and seemingly forgotten in his schism from the Legion. His dearest Vulpes, the small babe he had raised and trained within the ranks of the Frumentarii. An innocent child brought into the Legion turned into a ruthless, sadistic killing machine. Turned into one of Caesar’s favored tools throughout their campaign. And much to the dismay of the party, the former Frumentarrius and his treasure joined them in the journey north.

As the days passed, the newly formed gaggle of misfits had found themselves nearing the area Christine herself had once called home— Hidden Valley.

Buried deep within the sands lay a complex of USAF bunkers remaining from before the Great War, a complex in which the Brotherhood of Steel had found themselves calling “home” as they came eastward from some part of the western coast. With them came the rise and fall of Elijah, a man whose glory was built on egregious violations of the Codex. He betrayed his prior Elder, being sent east solely to get him out of their hair. He viewed the people under him as mere equipment, expecting them to carry out his orders and requests unquestionably, only to betray them as the Brotherhood found themselves crushed beneath the boot of the NCR at the failed requisition of Helios One. It had opened a festering wound within Christine’s chest, causing her to stop and step aside from the rest of the wandering group.

“Hold on, I want to check something.”

Carefully taking her own partner’s arm in her hands, Christine navigated through the Pip-Boy and studied the local map for a good moment.

“I thought so. The Brotherhood set up a bunker around here. I—” her voice faded for a moment as she took a breath. “I haven’t been in communication with the Chater, not since Elijah. They might be able to spare a few things if I can just talk to them. We should—”

“They’re gone.”

A man of few words, Vulpes would rarely interject into the group’s conversations unless it was to alert them of a clear and present danger. Which is why it had taken most off guard, particularly Christine. She blinked and furrowed her brows, folding her arms as a wash of nausea began to rise in her gut.

“What do you mean ‘they’re gone’?” She pressed, stepping toward the ex-Frumentarius.

“I mean they’ve been destroyed. Caesar saw through to it. I—”

“Tell me everything you know right now.”

Venom dripped from Christine’s words as she found herself just before Vulpes, glaring up at him with pained eyes. At her sides, her fists began to clench and her muscles tensed for all to see.

“... I infiltrated the bunker as I was ordered. Set off the self-destruct sequence and escaped just as the bunker collapsed. There were no survivors.”

Vulpes’ voice was cold as he spoke, distant even. Twinges of shame leaked through his words, made more apparent by the way his gaze fell from Christine and cast itself aside to the shifting sands. He had confirmed Christine’s worst fears in that moment. Confirmed his loyalty to Caesar to the rest. The Brotherhood was gone. Destroyed. Forgotten. Her mind thought of Veronica, knowing that it was plausible that she had gone back and forth from the bunker in completing her own missions. Then it went to all of the others she had gotten to know. The Circle of Steel, the scribes, the children. And in his moments of work, in those days that he had vanished away from Pandora’s presence? None of those factors had mattered to him. An order was an order, and Caesar’s will was carried out. Imani took a breath and looked away, feeling her own wave of nausea overcome her. She glanced at Pandora, catching the way that the angel’s expression had twisted in horror. She glanced at Dakota and Loofa, seeing the way they had exchanged a sorrowful look. She glanced to Ulysses, finding nothing in his expression as he silently watched the two.

Tears burned at her eyes and she trembled, fists balling into a tight fist as she wound her arm back and sent a harsh punch forward. Roughened knuckles collided with the male’s face, sending him stumbling backward in surprise as his hands moved to protect the area.

A cold air seemed to envelop her as she prepared herself to strike again, face peeling back in a snarl.

“Do you know what you’ve done?! The Brotherhood wanted no part in your stupid conflict! We were trying to survive— We barely had the supplies to hold out as long as we had underground! Elijah already doomed us and then you— You came along and destroyed it all!”

As Christine spoke, her voice rose until it had grown hoarse with anger. Almost as soon as she had gained her voice, she was losing it beneath the strenuous yelling. She lurched forward, grabbing Vulpes by the collar and forcing him to look at her. Icy eyes met her narrowed gaze, saw the way she bared her teeth before pushing him back and following his stumbling form to strike at him once more. This time, though, Vulpes raised his own arms, taking the hit and moving aside to strike at her. Neither held back as they found themselves dancing across the sands, both fighting with any energy that they had. Christine fought with the intent to cause great harm to Vulpes, to make him pay for what he had done to her family. Vulpes fought to defend himself, to sedate Christine so that she could be dragged along the journey without another word. At some point or another, they had found themselves on the ground, rolling around and coating themselves with blood and sand.

It was only a faint pool of blood formed beneath the duo that the others intervened, Loofa and Imani rushing to guard Christine whilst Ulysses found himself yanking Vulpes back from his position atop Christine. Both were well bloody and bruised at this point, yet none of the varied wounds had posed a great threat to their lives. Christine’s nose was bloodied, the healing wound on her throat beginning to re-open from the strain of the fight and her skin beginning to blossom with bruising. Vulpes’ nose was equally bloodied, the crimson liquid oozing from his nose and mouth as the pallid skin around his eye quickly turned black from the trauma. A blanket of silence fell over the group as wounds were checked over, the girls staying together some odd feet away as Ulysses checked over Vulpes. He glanced up to notice the sun beginning to set, a low sigh falling from his lips.

They would have to camp atop this mass grave and pray another fight didn’t break out.


	5. Byzantium Gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was part of a trade I completed for @kourumi on Tumblr!

The Acropolis district filled with music and patrons alike, the residents of Byzantium’s gilded streets adorning their best attire as they gathered in the open square, chattering with one another between helping themselves to servings of Iceberg Aged Whiskey, Purpleberry Liqueur, and wonderfully fresh food. Golden interior lights and chandeliers illuminated the Halcyon Holding Corporation’s lobby and upper floors whilst casting multi-toned patterns into the festive streets below through the illuminated stained glass. The sun had set long ago, leaving the sky gloriously adorning its own jewels. Shimmering stars sparkled against the vast, black ocean, complimented by the colorful glimmers of distant planets.

And stood atop the world was Chairman Rockwell, leaning against the balcony and looking over the event as he sipped at the glass in his hand.

Much akin to the surrounding town, Rockwell was not one to spare any expense. He too adorned in his most fit attire: a sleek, asymmetrically buttoned suit accented with the finest crimson silk. Broad shoulders were just contained by the black cloth, which too brought attention to his piercing features. He slicked silvering hair back into place, not a single strand falling out of line just as his guards did not, and cold, focused eyes watched on as familiar faces appeared in the crowd. Holding the gala was one of few ways he could get the attention of the people, and the opportunity had provided the Board ample means of connecting with its subsidiaries. Allowing the lower-standing companies a chance to be heard, even if they limited this to those operating within Byzantium’s exclusive walls, was a magnificent way, too, for Rockwell and his Board to open their own pockets for the generous contributions of the fine citizens. How was this collection justified? A raffle of the finest cloth, exclusive and used film costumes were being auctioned off to the wealthy netizens. Yet it was not time for the event to kick off, for Rockwell still had to make his own appearance within the crowd.

Swallowing down the last of the thick Liqueur, Rockwell turned and made his way indoors and down the decadent marble staircase, stepping out into the premier event’s crowd. Cheers filled the air, many coming to greet the Chairman and offer their praise for his dedication to Halcyon. Not long after the precursory introductions were out of the way, Adjutant Akande had found herself by the Chairman’s side within the crowd. In a rare moment, Rockwell offered her a genuine smile, to which she returned her usual half-smile.

“Take it you’re having a good time, Adjutant?”

“You know how I love crowds,” she chided, rolling her eyes a bit and looking at the gala members.

The comment had earned a faint laugh from the Chairman, who patted her shoulder before being dragged away into a conversation with a group of rowdy yet passionate locals. This act of being passed around from crowd to crowd became an all-night adventure for the Chairman, being tossed around like a ball between the various groups. Drinks were had, laughs were shared, and Rockwell had- for once in his trivial career- seemed to enjoy himself. So much so that by the time the Adjutant, vigilant as ever, had found him again, he was sitting back on a bench in an attempt to keep the room from spinning. Yet still he hummed along to the music, and even still he grinned up at the Adjutant as she piqued a brow and folded her arms across her coat. Her annoyance did not last long though, as she laughed quietly at the Chairman’s lopsided grin and those wide, amber eyes.

“Take it you’re having a good time, Chairman?”

The tease had earned a warm laugh from the Chairman as he sat up a bit, scooting over to allow the Adjutant space should she choose to join him on the bench. The Adjutant slowly sat beside him on the bench as she awaited a response, politely folding her hands in her lap as she kept her gaze focused on the crowd. He joined her in watching the crowd, playing with the emptied glass in his hands before setting it beside him on the bench.

“For once? Yes.”


	6. Hellfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Legion-Typical Violence (Fallout), Brief Misogyny Mention || Numerous named characters mentioned belong to Vendetta

There were some things that could even stir a wave of unease within the Burned Man’s gut. Things that tugged at his psyche more than he would ever admit to those around him. Even when it had come to his beloved Marigold.

Zion was now flourishing in its fortunate freedom, the ever-looming shadow of the Legion unable to plague its lands as it had the Mojave. No matter how many unskilled frumentarii found themselves at his cave. No matter how many tribes Edward had assimilated before taking his final breath. No, none could tempt Zion with its sin. Not even Lanius, tall as he stood above the land he conquered. Travelers from all over the breadth of the Mojave found themselves in sanctuary, and even so had those from places beyond Legion territory. They had sacrificed it all to find this haven of purity, and they would now risk it all to take back the Mojave sands and cleanse them of the filth that was Lanius’ Legion. Clear waters turned crimson under the Legion’s banner, though not by its hand. The blood that was shed had belonged to the Legion, spilled by Zion’s crusaders as they pushed forth through the barrage of soldiers.

Then they came to a halt just before the gate to Legion territory. Daunting crimson banners swayed in the gentle breeze, taunting the revolutionaries as they recuperated. Joshua took the forefront, silently counting heads over and over until he found himself confirming that all were well. No pair had lost their other half among the chaos, and his former legionnaires seemed prepared to take the forefront with him and corner Lanius like the beast he was. His gaze faltered as he caught Marigold moving to stand beside him, muscles tensing briefly before he regained his senses. Their gaze met with no words, yet a thousand or more had been exchanged in the brief moments they held. A storm of emotions were seeping from their eyes, souls torn in numerous directions as they stepped closer and silently pressed their foreheads together. Joshua was the first to let a quiet noise escape him, a breath he had not realized he had been holding as a chill ran up his spine; as a harsh reality began to set in. Unlikely as it was, if they were to fail now… Marigold would be the primary target of Lanius. Brutish as the now-Legate had been, Joshua could only imagine that he would remember the former tribal as much as he would remember throwing Joshua into the canyon.

“Whatever happens beyond this point… Know that I love you, Marigold,” Joshua whispered, fear lacing his words as he allowed his hand to rest upon her cheek.

The lioness’ eyes softened as she peered up at her partner, her hand coming to rest atop his own as he held her.

“Oh Joshua… I—I love you too. And I know we will make it through this with you leading us.”

And with the confirmation, Joshua withdrew from their embrace and rallied their army. Prior legionnaires would take the forefront with him, including some of the Legion's most notorious members. Vulpes Inculta and Ulysses, both former leaders of Caesar’s frumentarii. Skilled infiltrators with a once undying loyalty to Caesar. Antony, the master of hounds, a man who had single handedly bred the Legion’s most vicious warriors. Virgo, known to many as Brutus. A veteran fighter with a strength that could nearly overwhelm that of Lanius. Mars, a woman who had infiltrated the ranks. The very thing that the Legion hated, yet the very being that the Legion worshipped in namesake. Then there was Joshua, one of the men who had founded the Legion. Birthed it from the flames that would soon come to consume his flesh as he was cast out; as he was labeled a Judas.

The group marched forth, the others following and bracing as the gates were opened to reveal Lanius. And Lanius alone.

The Legate had no guard to protect him. Rather, the Legate had found himself relying upon the power of Mars to aid him in this battle, and—perhaps too out of boredom for the long battle that had bought the crusaders to this point—sacrificed them as he had countless others. His own praetorians were slaughtered like cattle, leaving him the sole standing member of the Legion on the Dam. Masked eyes were quick to fall on those who had stood before him. A vile wave of disgust tugged at every nerve in his body, face contorting beneath the thickened metal as he spoke poisonous words.

“And so the Burned Man walks, alongside him traitors in the colors of the Legion. An envoy... dressed as an insult to all that carry out Caesar's will.”

Joshua held a hand to the others and stepped forward, his posture straightening as he stared the Legate in the face. Stared at Death himself and did not back down.

“He found me in a desert land. And in the wasteland, a howling wilderness; He encircled me, He instructed me, He kept me as the apple of His eye. As an eagle stirs up its nest, hovers over its young, spreading out its wings, taking them up, carrying them on its wings. So the Lord alone led me, and there was no foreign god with me—" Joshua leered, daring to step forward and lessen the distance between himself and Lanius. “—Now see that I, even I, am He, and there is no God beside Me; I kill and I make alive; I wound and I heal; Nor is there any who can deliver from my hand. For I raise My hand to heaven, And say: As I live forever, if I whet my glittering sword, and my hand takes hold on judgment, I will render vengeance to my enemies. Render my vengeance unto you, Lanius.”

The Legate’s disgust turned into cold hostility as the former talked down to him, spoke as if he were going to leave this encampment alive and victorious.

“Enough. If you seek to stand against me, you shall fall as the West fell. As it will fall again beneath my boot. I am not such a fool as you, Graham, to be painted in pitch and set aflame. Your overconfidence forever branded you with fire, I will not follow your trail of fire into the depths of the Grand Canyon.”

Joshua’s iced gaze bore into Lanius’ own, rendering him momentarily oblivious to the fact that Marigold had stepped forth to stand at his side, her own venom seeping from her words.

“Your reign of terror ends here, Lanius, as it should have eons ago when you completed your first slaughter. There is no place on this Earth for someone so willing to slaughter his own brethren to maintain his pride. This time, you will die.”


End file.
